Psychopathic Criminal Mastermind
by asil-enna
Summary: Jim Moriarty had loved Molly ever since they went on their dates. He needs to tell her, but things get complicated. Moriarty's point-of-view.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is probably the shortest chapter so far. And, I know, it's not "original" Moriarty, but deal with it it's my story. **

**Enjoy.**

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><p>The cool London breeze blew against his cheeks, as he walked toward the young woman's home. His nerves were going all over the place, and his head pounded from the cold. He made his way to her door, swallowed hard, and rang the doorbell. He felt as if he was going to be sick, which was unusual. He never got this way before, for anything really. He heard her start to unlock the door to her flat, and he tensed up. As she opened it, her hazel eyes widened at the sight of the man who stood before her. She backed away slowly, mumbling inaudibly to herself. He stood in place, as to not scare her anymore than she already was.<p>

"No. No, no, no. This isn't happening– I was told that you would never come back for me!" Molly exclaimed, backing away, as she began to shut the door. He stuck his foot in between the door and its frame.

"Molly, I'm not going to hurt you! Can we please talk?" He asked frantically.

"No, Jim, I know that you tried to kill Sherlock and John! Please, I don't want to die! Stay away from me!" Molly cried. Jim removed his foot from the doorway, and it shut immediately. He turned around, in a single swift motion, placed his back to the door, and slid down until he was seated on her front porch. As he sat there, he ran his long, nimble fingers through his slicked back, dark hair. He reminisced on the times that he had spent with Molly, while he was posing as "Jim from IT".

They had laughed, danced, and curled up on the sofa together, watching "Nevermind the Buzzcocks" and "Glee" while sipping tea. They enjoyed going to the cinema together, and Jim especially enjoyed films that would frighten Molly, so he could hold her close to him, keeping her safe from her fears. He loved to see her come out of her shell around him, talking about how her day was, and what she did on the days that they didn't see each other. Occasionally, Jim would arrive at Molly's flat early, just to make her a nice warm meal to come home to. She always seemed to love when he did that. All of those memories were just that.

Memories.

He rose from his position on the porch, and began to walk toward the street. He turned to look back at her flat, with its sky blue door, and the extravagant white detailing around the exterior. He sighed deeply, and proceeded to walk from the home, determined to get Molly to talk to him sometime. He did not want to force her, because Jim Moriarty truly loved Molly Hooper, and he needed to let her know soon, but only when she was ready to talk.

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><p>For the next few days, Moriarty sulked in his own flat. All he ate was microwave-able Ramen Noodles, and dry cereal. He could not remove thoughts of Molly from his mind. He made himself a quick cup of tea, and sat himself on the small love-seat in his living area. He was devising a plan to talk to her. He needed to let her know that he had always loved her, and that he was not playing her like a harp.<p>

Jim never wanted to hurt Molly, but she just could not believe what he did to her friends. He was a criminal, and Molly wanted no part in that, but she had fallen for "Jim from IT", and she was devastated when she found out that "Jim from IT" was actually James Moriarty, psychopathic, criminal mastermind.


	2. Chapter 2

Moriarty was walking along a familiar and busy street. He had figured out the address of Molly's yoga instruction building, and decided that if he couldn't talk to her at her home, he would get to while she was out. He had followed her very discreetly to her class. Moriarty made sure that she did not notice him at all on the travel there.

He watched the young woman enter the tall building with large glass windows. He stopped by a bench across the street with just the right view that he needed to keep an eye on her. After a good 20 minutes of waiting, he decided to go to the corner café to purchase a cup of tea, as it was quite frigid outside, and he'd be waiting for another half an hour for Molly's class to be finished.

He sauntered into the small café, and glanced at the large line that was formed from the counter to the last row of tables near the windows. _This may take longer than I had planned._ He thought, gawking at the amount of people packed into the small eatery. He was standing in line for about ten minutes when he finally reached the small counter.

"What will you have, sir?" The young boy, probably in his teenage years, asked.

Just as he was about to order, there was a loud crashing sound from outside that seemed to make everyone in the café jump. The sound of sirens in the distance signaled that something had gone wrong. For a few seconds everyone was silent and still, and then they all ran to the windows to see what happened, including Moriarty.

The view of a large bus smashed against a small car shocked everyone, as they all gasped. The small herd of people rushed out of the café to see if anyone needed help. Moriarty saw a group of people surrounding something closer to the accident. They were all wearing very comfortable clothing. The thought of Molly's yoga class came to mind.

He elbowed frantically through the crowd from the café, ran over to the circle people, and broke through. He gaped at the body before him.

Molly was sprawled on the street, covered in blood. The bus had hit her, and the car tried to swerve around, but had rammed into the side of the large bus. Everything slowed down. Moriarty felt himself getting more and more nauseous. He tried to find his balance, but he still stumbled. He heard people telling him that he needed to leave, but he kept refusing to leave her.

He reached Molly, kneeled down, and lifted her upper body into his arms. She was still conscious, but very discombobulated. Moriarty heard her whisper to him over the loud sirens approaching them.

"J-Jim? Don't… Don't kill me…" She trailed off while trying her best to push him away. Tears sprang to his eyes, as he replied.

"I would never. Molly, d-don't die on me now. Not here. Not like this," He choked between sobs, as he said "I… I love you, Molly Hooper." He let the tears fall down his cheeks. Molly's eyes widened at the sound of his words. She reached up to touch his cheek, compassionately. He carefully took her hand in his own and held her close. Molly whispered one last thing to him, as she lay there.

"Jim… Don't let me die. I-I don't want to die. I want to stay here… With you…" A tear escaped her eye and rolled slowly down her scratched face. Moriarty placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and answered.

"You won't die. I promise." As he said that, she tried at a small smile, just before she relaxed and went unconscious. "Molly, stay with me," He cried, "Molly! Molly, don't do this! Molly!"


	3. Chapter 3

A paramedic walked up to Moriarty and offered for him to ride along with Molly to the hospital. He accepted, trying to hold back his tears and anger. He watched the rest of the paramedics put molly on a gurney and into the ambulance. He stepped in and sat next to her, watching over her with great care.

"It will be okay, sir," he heard someone say, "We'll do our best." Suddenly, Moriarty became enraged.

"You will _do your best_?" He yelled," What if your 'best' isn't enough? If she dies…" He stopped himself before raising suspicion. He lowered his tone. "If she dies, I don't know what I'll do." The Irishman stated. The paramedic looked at him strangely.

The rest of the ride was in silence. Well, besides the sound of the paramedics talking to each other, working to keep Molly alive. Moriarty rested his head in his hands and tried to keep his brain from trailing off into the unknown. He didn't want to do anything irrational that might risk Molly's safety. He felt as if he was going to be sick again. This was happening very often today, and it was finally pushing at the edge of his patience. As the ambulance rounded a corner, he almost flew out of his seat.

"Hey buddy, you alright back there?" asked the driver. Moriarty sat up and gave the man a nod of his head. He didn't want to talk, because he felt that if he opened his mouth, he would throw up.

He looked around frantically for a bucket. One of the paramedics saw his face losing it's colour, and handed him the small trash bin. Moriarty looked into the bucket and instantaneously vomited. The blaring sirens were fading now, and Moriarty looked up from the now soiled trash bin.

They had made it to the large hospital, and the paramedics carted Molly in, with Moriarty trailing them. He was about to have a panic attack, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to draw too much attention to himself, for he feared getting caught, and being thrown in jail for his numerous crimes.

_So much for not getting noticed._ He thought to himself, as he realized that he was rushing through a busy hospital, behind a gurney with a young woman attached to it. His mind suddenly slipped to all of Molly's friends coming to visit her here, and he tried to think of how he could avoid them at all costs. He didn't want to leave Molly in the hospital alone, but he didn't want to leave her life, while he lived in prison. After he thought about these factors for a few moments, he decided that he would leave after they diagnosed his love's status. They arrived at the emergency room, and someone told Moriarty that he couldn't go any further.

"But, I need to stay with her!" He argued. The tall, burly man looked him in the eyes, and tried to explain.

"Sir, you need to stay in the waiting room. We will come and find you when you can see her." He assured him. Moriarty took a deep breath, turned abruptly around, stomped to the waiting room, and sat.

There were 2 other people in there, reading magazines and newspapers silently to themselves. There was a television in the corner of the room, playing some type of news show, he really didn't care to figure out which. Moriarty stood and started pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself so no one could hear him.

The young man, probably in his mid 30's, who was reading the newspaper looked up at him, and then back down to his paper. The much older woman looked up from her magazine, but only to check her mobile. She looked as if she were about to cry. Moriarty dismissed the fact that the two others in the room were actually there, and started pacing faster. He was like that for about three and a half hours, when a nurse in magenta scrubs came out to the waiting room.

"Is there a Jim M. in here?" She asked. Moriarty walked over to her and she led him down the corridor, into Molly's room. She was still unconscious, but breathing on her own.

This calmed Moriarty down a bit, but he was still very anxious. The brightly dressed nurse told him that she was going to get the doctor, and that he would explain everything. After she left, Moriarty walked to Molly's bedside and held her hand in his. He kept telling himself that this was not the end, and that she would get better.

He hadn't noticed that the doctor had walked in. Moriarty brushed a stray piece of hair from her damaged face. He remembered when her skin was as smooth as porcelain, and her cheeks rosy from being flushed whenever they were together. Now she had scratches and bumps everywhere, and her cheeks were stained from the blood that came from her wounds. He released her hand and gently placed it at her side. He turned to face the doctor, a man of smaller stature, with tan skin and dark hair.

"She's going to be alright from what we can tell now. It will take a few months, to a year for her to fully recover from the accident. We'll be keeping her under close observation to ensure that she does recover as quickly as possible." Moriarty looked back at Molly. He imagined what she would be like after she recovered. He wondered if her face would be as flawless as it was before. He wondered if she would function the same. If she could walk again. If she'd have the same memory. If she would remember him. He shook those thoughts from his mind and focused on talking to the doctor.

"What's going to happen to her when she's recovered?" He stumbled over the syllables, as he pried the words from his mouth. The doctor looked at Moriarty, then to Molly, and back to him.

"Molly is going to be just fine. It's miraculous how she survived that bus crash. The only damage that has occurred is a broken ankle, a broken wrist, 4 fractured ribs, and minor head trauma. Her spine wasn't affected, and she will be able to walk, talk, and function normally after she heals." He explained. Moriarty brushed through Molly's hair. He fought back tears. Eventually the doctor left the two alone. Moriarty kissed Molly's forehead. He gave her one last goodbye, and left. He knew that Sherlock and John would be there soon, and he didn't want to risk running into them.

A few hours after his departure, he felt like depression had hit him like a ton of bricks. He went to a pub far away from the hospital, and drank. And drank. And drank. It felt so good to clear his mind. He loved the burning of the alcohol in his throat, and the way it made him feel relaxed.

He stayed in the pub for what seemed like an eternity. The bartender eventually hailed a cab and told him to go home. Moriarty stumbled into the taxi, and slurred out his address to the cabbie. When he arrived to his flat, he made his way into the bathroom, and vomited for the second time that day.

He blacked out on the bathroom floor.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, still dressed in his, now wrinkled, Westwood, Moriarty woke up with a horrible headache. Pain surged all over his body from sleeping on the floor, and he could barely hold himself up. He left the bathroom and walked down the long corridor to his bedroom.

There wasn't much in there. There was a king-sized bed, a floor lamp, a recliner, and a huge, wall-mounted television opposite his bed, a walk-in closet, and a bedside table with a drawer next to the bed.

He opened the doors to his closet, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, and stripped to his underwear. He refreshed his undergarments, and then slipped on the sweats. He moved to the dirty laundry pile, which was now looking more like a mountain, and threw his suit on the top. As he turned to search for a t-shirt, something caught his eye.

At the bottom of the mountain of dirty clothing, a purple cardigan with gold buttons was balled up near the wall. Moriarty picked it up, and eyed it. It was Molly's. She had left it at his flat when she stayed over on a stormy night.

He brought it to his nose and breathed in the smell of her perfume. He moved to his bed and sat, still holding the purple fabric. He held it out in front of him and examined it. One of the buttons was missing, and there was a hole in the left pocket. He remembered Molly saying that she wanted to mend the hole, and add a new button.

The night that she stayed with him they watched _Grease_, and they sang along to every song. They had laughed through the entire film, comparing life from the 50's to life now. Moriarty had actually enjoyed that movie, unlike _Clueless_. He had found that entire movie horrible. He didn't understand why people thought it was cool to go to parties and drink until they dropped, and messed around like a bunch of wild monkeys, but Molly had loved it so he suffered through it, because he knew it made her happy.

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><p><em>"You don't have to watch this with me." Said Molly, knowing that Jim might not exactly appreciate a chick flick.<em>

"_No, it's quite alright, I don't mind. It's your turn to choose the movie anyway." Jim answered, smiling lightly._

"_Are you sure? I thought you would want to watch something with more action." Molly offered. Jim held her delicate hands in his, and looked her in the eyes._

"_Molly, pick whatever you'd like. I won't mind." He kissed her cheek. "I'm going to go make some popcorn. Do you want a drink?"_

"_Just some tea for me, please." She smiled._

"_Two sugars and a splash of crème?" He asked. Molly's smile widened._

"_You've got it!" Jim flashed a quick grin, and disappeared into the kitchen. Molly sighed happily._

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><p>Moriarty threw the cardigan onto the pile of clothing and shot up, off of the bed. He stalked out of the room and into the kitchen. He opened the cupboard above the sink and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He popped the top off of the bottle, and drank from it, taking large gulps to ease the pain.<p>

The burning sensation that he felt last night was back, and he _loved_ it. He couldn't stop drinking. His eyes filled with tears from the irritation in his esophagus. A few seconds later, he choked on the alcohol and spit it out on the floor.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed, trying to catch his breath. Moriarty set the almost empty bottle on the counter, and went to the laundry room to fetch a towel. He came back into the kitchen, wiped up the spill, and drank the last bit of scotch left. The bottle was thrown into the glass bin, and the towel was hung over the back of a chair.

He stumbled into his sitting room and turned on the television. For a few minutes, he flicked through the channels. _Nothing good._ He thought, turning the screen off. He got up, sped to his room, still unbalanced, and threw on a fresh suit. He grabbed his gun and pocketknife from his nightstand, and left his flat.

He walked into the dark city, gun and knife tucked in his belt, and hidden under his suit jacket. As Moriarty walked around town, he went into multiple bars, but he didn't drink at all. He picked up all sorts of drunken people; men and women, alike. He would lure them into the alleyways; make them feel safe and comfortable.

Then he would pull out his knife, and lower his tone to try to make them feel as if he were playing a game. When they least expected it he would plunge the knife into their abdomens and twist, and twist, and twist until they fell to the pavement, covered in blood, just as Molly had been.

He would always leave the bodies where they were. He had people who cleaned up after him. He hadn't personally killed anyone in over two years, but this was how he was going to deal with what he thought was depression. Which it was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading my fic. It means a lot! I really enjoy this story. As always, reviews and feedback are fabulous!**

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><p>The next day, Moriarty visited the hospital. Molly would still be in very critical condition, but maybe she would actually be awake.<p>

He walked into her room, but stopped in the doorway when he saw her eyes look his way, without moving her head. She did a double take and turned her head towards him, widening her eyes. He was puzzled, as she nudged her head slightly towards the corridor, signaling for him to go. He did as she had told, and backed out of the room and leaned against a wall. He could hear other voices coming from the room.

Familiar voices.

"Who was that?" A deep and smooth voice asked.

"Oh, just the nurse," Molly lied, "Probably coming to check up on me."

"Why didn't you let her walk in?" Asked a second male voice, a few pitches higher than the other.

"I… I don't want to be disturbed when I have visitors." Molly hesitated, trying to be as convincing as she possibly could.

"Molly, you're lying. Who was that?" The deep voice asked once more. Moriarty heard a stirring of the sheet on Molly's bed.

The second voice added, "Molly, you don't have to tell us, don't listen to Sherlock."

Moriarty froze. The voices belonged to Sherlock and John. He didn't know what to do. He had his back against a hospital wall for God's sake. He thought about running out, but that would just cause suspicion. He heard them talk more, and eventually they said their goodbyes.

Moriarty walked briskly to the bathroom down the corridor, selected a stall, and locked himself in. _What just happened?_ He asked himself. _Why did I run into the loo?_ He rummaged through his thoughts and came to the conclusion that he would wait 5 minutes, and then go back to Molly.

"John, I want to know who Molly was hiding from us." Sherlock said.

Moriarty's eyes went wide. _Shit. What are they doing in here?_ He thought, as he stiffened.

"Sherlock, just drop it." John replied. "She obviously didn't want to talk about it." A faucet started running, and one of the pair was washing their hands.

Moriarty squirmed, accidentally hit is elbow on the wall, and let out a grunt.

"Ow, fuck." He clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words came out.

Sherlock and John stopped.

"...Are you alright?" John asked. Moriarty didn't want to say anything, for he knew they would recognize his voice.

"Um, yeah..." He faked an American accent. "Fine..."

"What accent was that?" Sherlock inquired.

"American." He said.

"Oh... Well... Sorry about your–What did you hit?"

"My elbow." He said through clenched teeth.

"Right. Sorry about your elbow." Sherlock finished and went back to talking to John.

"It just bothered me." Sherlock said. A few moments of silence passed until he spoke again. "God, I really hate hospitals." He groaned. "They're so full of germs." He was obviously the one washing his hands. The faucet stopped as John spoke.

"Seriously, Sherlock? A hospital is probably one of the most sterile places." Moriarty heard the door open as Sherlock mumbled something to John, and then it closed, making a creaking noise. He sighed with what he though was relief.

After a few more minutes, he stood up, opened the stall, straightened out his suit, and walked out of the bathroom. He looked around, as to make sure that the two men had left, and then walked to Molly's room. Her face seemed to brighten as he arrived. She gave a small and timid smile. He returned her smile with a warm grin. He leaned over her bed, and gave her a hug.

"Oh. Ow! Jim, not there, that hurts." Molly explained. He immediately released her.

"Sorry." He gave an apologetic half smile. He examined Molly once more. She could barely move, and she had bruises everywhere. Her body was covered in bandages in various places. She looked so vulnerable. Well, she usually looked vulnerable in a shy and lonely kind of way. Now she just looked like a clumsy newborn fawn. It was kind of pathetic, really. Though, there was still something about her that read "strong."

"You've been drinking." She said. Moriarty looked up at her, baffled.

"But, how–"

"I can smell it on you." She interrupted, "I remember when we met. You said you only drank socially…" She paused. "Is that true?" He was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Not even a squeak. "Of course it's not true. Everything you said–Everything you said you were–was a lie." Molly looked away. He reached for her hand, and held it gently.

"Molly, I'm sorry for all of the lies. I really am." He blurted out. She didn't look up. "I truly do love you, Molly Hooper." His voice cracked with her name.

"Stop saying that." Her voice was cold and dry. Molly pulled her hand away. "If you really love me, why did you lie? Why did you use me to get to Sherlock? Is this some sort of joke? Where are the cameras, Jim? Nobody's laughing. I just got hit by a bus, and you decide that all of a sudden you love me?" She was on the verge of tears. A few minutes of awkward silence fell between them before Molly spoke again. "Get out."

"…What?"

"I said 'Get out.'" Molly repeated herself. Moriarty did as she asked and backed out of her room, with a blank expression on his face. In fact, he looked _broken_.

He walked out of the hospital and back to his flat. He didn't know what to do–what to think–he just sulked around in his flat. He ate everything in his refrigerator, which wasn't a whole lot, because he rarely went to the market. _Am I really eating my feelings?_ He asked himself, disgusted.

He was sprawled on the couch in his sweat pants, eating crisps and flicking through television channels. He kept talking to himself, and groaning, and the occasional 'Why me? Why now? Why her?' string of thoughts. He agreed that it was not normal for him to act like this. No one person had ever made him feel this way.

It was around midnight when he decided to get ready for bed. He sent a few emails to some not-so-important people, called one of his snipers for a 'special' project, and ate some more before he finally crashed on the sofa.


	6. Chapter 6

Another month passed. Then another. And another. Soon enough, it had been six months since Molly's accident. Every week, always on a Friday, Moriarty would send flowers to her room. He never got a reply, or a phone call, or letter, but he sent the flowers every week, all the same.

Until the sixth month after the accident. He stopped sending flowers. After that, he didn't bother to make contact with Molly at all. In fact, he had completely _forgotten_ about her.

Eventually, it had been a year since the accident. Molly should have been recovered by then, but Moriarty didn't notice. In that year, he killed about a dozen people on his own, and had a few of his hired snipers to do some dirty work for him, including keeping an eye on Sherlock. He had done this for fun; there was no real motive.

Jim waltzed into his kitchen and made lunch: leftover take out. He heated it in the microwave, then sauntered into the living area, plopped down on the sofa, and turned the television on.

He flipped through some channels and decided on the news. It's not like anything good was on. He picked up his laptop from the coffee table and opened it. Moving his mouse around, he clicked on the email shortcut. He began to type an email when her heard something rather interesting coming from the television.

"_A local hospital caught on fire today. Firefighters were on the scene, and have been battling the flames since around 1 o'clock this morning. Police officials haven't released any information on how the blaze started, but there will be further investigation later this week..."_

"Boring." He said, sipping the tea that he made earlier.

"..._Detective Inspector Lestrade has more information on what happened. He told our main correspondent that the only piece of evidence of any kind is a message that was spray painted on a nearby café's window. The message read, "I will burn the heart out of you." For now, there is no more evidence, or any leads on who may have started the blaze."_

Moriarty stopped.

He just stopped.

He didn't set the fire, and he definitely didn't leave that note… But, he had said it.

That night at the pool, when he met Sherlock and John for the second time, he said that. He said, "I will burn the heart out of you." to Sherlock. None of this was making sense. Sherlock and John wouldn't set the hospital on fire, and if they didn't do it, and he didn't do it, then who did?

"Hello." Jim jumped at the voice behind him. He turned around ever so slowly, eyes wide. She stood there looking back at him, not uttering a word.

"Ms. Adler," He started, "How did you get in my house?" The Irishman asked.

"Do you really feel the need to ask that?" She responded. Moriarty knew that she was right; it was a stupid question.

"Alright. Well, for starters, why are you here?" He questioned.

"I'm supposed to deliver a message to you. Apparently, you have been a very bad boy." She said. He was puzzled.

"…What?"

"You've made someone very cross, Mr. Moriarty." He was getting impatient with all of this pondering.

"Are you going to tell me _whom_ I've made angry?"

"Do you remember a Miss Molly Hooper? Sweet, young thing. Very demanding, though. She said you'd forgotten about her."

"Molly?" He chuckled. "_Molly Hooper_ made you bring me a message?"

"Yes, now would you please shut up, so I can tell you?" She asked. Moriarty went silent. "Miss Hooper gave me this address. She said to have you meet her there." The address was for the café that he had gone in when Molly had her yoga class.

"Is that it?"

"No, she also told me to give you this…" She said. Moriarty gave her a look that said 'Well, let me have it', and so, Irene did.

"OW!" He screeched, bringing his hand to his throbbing face. "What the _hell_ was that for?" He demanded.

"That's what I was told to give you. A slap to the face." She stated, matter-of-factly. "She said that she'd do it in person, but she didn't want to hurt your poor face in public." Moriarty positioned his hand to backhand her, but then forced himself not to. "Well, go get dressed!" She exclaimed.

"Why?" He asked, with a hint of attitude to his voice.

"You need to go meet with Molly at this café. She's expecting you. Sometime _today_." She said sarcastically, trying to get the point across that he should hurry up and get ready.

"Alright, fine." He raised his hands in defeat. "But, you need to leave. I can't have some dangerous woman running around in my flat."

"I'll be on my way." She agreed. "Oh, tell Miss Hooper that I said 'Hello.'"

"Mhm." He mumbled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you're enjoying this little fanfic. Reviews are fabulous, and they let me know that you want me to post more, so if you would be kind enough to review, that would be awesome! Enjoy this next chapter!**

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><p>Moriarty saw Irene out, and quickly got ready. He slipped on a dark V-neck shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and his pair of old Converse.<p>

He moved over to his bedside table, opened the drawer, and pulled out a small bag of white pills. Eyeing the bag, he decided to take them all with him, and shoved them into his jean pocket.

He grabbed his Aviator sunglasses and his mobile. Moriarty waltzed over to the mirror for one last look at himself, licked his hand, slicked his hair back, and walked out the door. When he got to the street, he hailed a cab, and gave him the name of the café.

The cab reached the café, and Moriarty paid the fare, got out, and walked in the door to the coffee shop. He searched around the tables, and spotted Molly. He found his way to her table and cleared his throat to get her attention. It worked. She looked up and faintly smiled.

"Hello, Jim." She said, gesturing for him to sit.

"Hello," He started, "May I ask what I'm doing here?" Molly sipped her coffee before she replied.

"I haven't seen you in almost a year. You stopped visiting!" She exclaimed.

"I stopped visiting because I stopped _caring_. You told me get out, which to me meant 'never come back here, or I'll have you arrested,' so I never came back."

"But you sent flowers for a while." Molly reminded him.

"I sent flowers, because in the little time in between you having that outburst, to the time I stopped sending them, I cared." His voice was cold, and his words were crisp. Molly looked down at her almost empty cup.

"I never stopped thinking about what happened on the day of the accident." She said, "I always wondered why _you_ were the one to ride in the ambulance with me to the hospital. Why you, and not my family, or my friends from yoga."

"I loved you, Molly." He said. He peered over towards the counter, and decided he was going to get something to drink. "Do you want anything?" He quickly changed the subject.

"What?"

"I said 'Do you want anything?'" He repeated.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. I had a black coffee." She said, not making eye contact. He took her cup, and went to the counter.

He ordered her a refill, and he ordered himself a French vanilla cappuccino. The barista brought him Molly's cup first. The woman was in her early 20's, with long, curly, black hair. She was very thin, and her face was pale with bright blue eyes. She was beautiful. The barista turned away to make Moriarty's drink. He slipped his hand into his jean pocket, and pulled out the white pills. He stirred two of them into Molly's coffee, and slipped the bag back into his pocket. He smiled at the young barista when she handed him his drink, and she smiled back. Her nametag said "Charlotte".

"Thanks, Charlotte."

"Not a problem, sir." He strolled back to the table.

"Thanks" Molly said, taking her coffee.

"Yeah, sure." He said, sitting and sipping his cappuccino. She looked up at him.

"Did you really stop caring?" She asked. Moriarty was taken aback. He truly hadn't stopped caring, that doesn't just happen. But he did forget. He hesitated, and then replied.

"I never stopped caring for you, Molly," He said. "I just ended up blocking you from my mind. I didn't want to deal with that for a year."

"I went through rehabilitation for a year! Do you know how hard it is to not be able to use your legs, or your wrists, or your arms? It sucks, Jim. It really just sucks." Molly sipped her coffee, trying to cover her cracking voice. Moriarty took her hand and stroked his thumb over her's, trying to be reassuring.

"Molly, I know all of that must have been challenging for you, and I'm so, very sorry. I wish I could have stopped it all from happening." He took a gulp from his cappuccino, and when he put the cup down, he had whipped cream over his lip, and Molly giggled. He was puzzled. "What?"

"You have something…" She pointed to his lip. "Here, let me get it." Molly took a napkin and wiped off his moustache. She giggled again, but then her grin faded.

"Thanks… I guess." He didn't know what to say to that.

"No problem." Molly yawned. Moriarty smirked.

"Tired?" He asked, as he took another sip of his cappuccino.

"Yeah. I guess all of the rehab is finally catching up to me." She said. This made him laugh to himself. His smile faded.

"Do you want me to take you to your flat?" He asked. She finished off her coffee.

"That would be nice," She said, "Considering I haven't seen your face in a while." Molly chuckled, and Moriarty joined. They left the restaurant, and Molly started to stumble. He wrapped his arm around her back, and lifted her into a cradling position. She smiled at him.

"I can walk. You don't have to carry me." She looked at him, dazed.

"It's alright. You're light anyway." He told her, as he called for a taxi.

When the taxi arrived, he set Molly down to get her into the cab. She scooted over, and he sat next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he shut the door.

Moriarty looked down at the now sleeping Molly, and told the driver _his_ address.

As the cab arrived at his flat, Moriarty pulled out enough money to pay the fare. He didn't normally pay, but he didn't want to cause a scene, especially while Molly was with him.

He lifted her out of the cab, and cradled her, as he did earlier, and he carried her to his door. He fumbled for his keys, unlocked the door, and trudged in. He placed Molly gently on the sofa. He moved back to the door and locked it.

Moriarty then sat in the armchair across from where Molly was sleeping. He watched her every move. At one point he got up to take her pulse, to make sure he didn't overdose her.

"J-Jimm…" This startled him. He watched Molly, but she didn't wake up. She was just mumbling to herself in her sleep.

A few minutes later, she spoke again. "Don't let… Don't let me die." She stirred. "I want… stay…" That was the last thing she said. He lifted her from the sofa, and took her into his bedroom. He tucked her into his large bed, and kissed her forehead.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for the delay! I couldn't find a way to make this chapter sound alright. I actually don't like it all that much, but my 'beta reader(Lexi)' says it's amazing. So, here. Enjoy!**

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><p>Thunder boomed through the humid, damp air. Moriarty was sitting out on his terrace, gazing up at the darkened summer sky. The air clung to his skin as he sat, humming to himself, and listening to the thunderclap above his head.<p>

He loved nights like this. The feeling of the air on his skin and the humidity that you could slice through with a butter knife made him feel so… Relaxed. The thunder sent vibrations all through the air and the ground. He stood up and stretched his body. Then, he slid open the glass door, and slipped into his flat.

He tiptoed into his bedroom to find a still sleeping Molly. He had left her in her day clothes, because she didn't have any sweats or pajamas with her, and she didn't leave any at his flat. _It must be awfully uncomfortable to sleep in jeans._ He thought.

Molly was curled up in a ball, seeming to be cold. Moriarty realized that he left his bedroom window open, and quietly shut it. He peeked at her, and then walked to his wardrobe. He pulled on some sweat pants and a tight fitting t-shirt, then he crawled into his large bed, next to her.

He pulled her close to him and wrapped his arms around her. He sighed and twirled her hair around his fingers, and slowly, but surely drifted off to sleep.

He awoke with a start at the sound of the thunderstorm, which was now directly over his flat. He looked at the bright alarm clock on his nightstand. 3:26 in the morning. He flipped onto his other side to look at Molly, who had disappeared.

"Shit." He grumbled to himself, getting out of bed.

He rushed out of his room, and into the living area. "Not here" he noted. He moved to the kitchen. "Not here, either." He searched in all the closets, and even in the bathroom.

Nothing.

Finally, he walked back into the kitchen, and opened the glass sliding door, and there she was. Molly was laying on one of his reclining lawn chairs. She had a blanket wrapped tightly around her, and she had a book and a cup of coffee placed on the small table next to her.

She was sound asleep. Moriarty was puzzled as to why she came out here. It's not like she could read out here. It was bloody 3 in the morning, and it was dark. He moved so he was facing her, and leaned back on the railing. He waited for about an hour, until Molly awoke. Startled, she looked up at him.

"How long have you been there?" She asked.

"About an hour." He replied.

"Okay, I have 2 more questions." She started, "One: Why am I in _your_ flat? And, two: Why were you in bed with me earlier?" Moriarty chuckled.

"Darling, you didn't _really_ think I was going to let you go home yet, did you? We hadn't finished talking at the café. You bloody passed out." He explained.

"Alright, that still doesn't tell me why you were in bed with me." She demanded.

"You looked cold, and it is _my_ bed." He smirked.

"Why was I in _your_ bed, then?"

"I thought it was impolite to make you sleep on the couch." He stated, matter-of-factly.

The sky was still pitch black, but he could see her perfectly, beside the shadows that were draped over her features. Moriarty offered his hand to her, she took it, and she stood up before him, still wrapped in the blanket. He cupped her chin with his right hand, and played with her disheveled hair using his left.

"You know, Jim, I don't even remember falling asleep for the first time." She said, "All I remember is you offering to take me to my flat." He stared into her sparkling eyes, as she stared back.

"That's because you were tired." Moriarty leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she backed away.

"No." She said, taking a few more steps back.

"No, what?" He asked.

"No, don't kiss me."

"I was only going for your cheek!" He teased.

"I don't care!" She shouted. "I remember being wide awake, and then after my second coffee, I got extremely tired, and then I passed out on you! Last time I checked, caffeine doesn't make you tired."

"What are you _implying_?" He asked.

"You drugged me!" She was going hysterical.

"I did no such thing!" Moriarty tried to act as surprised at the thought as possible. Molly glared at him, waiting for him to admit to what they both knew he did. He raised his hands in defeat.

"Alright, alright. I put the pills in your coffee." He said, grinning. "But you have to admit that you find it incredibly alluring." Molly grimaced "Face it, Molly. You _love_ it. You love that little sense of danger when you're near me."

"I–" He cut her off.

"But you hate it simultaneously. I make you so very angry, don't I, Molly?"

"Jim, listen–"

"You set that hospital on fire, didn't you? You wanted to get my attention. You wanted me to notice you again."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I feel extremely bad about not publishing earlier this week, but I had a lot of trouble with this chapter.**

**It's mostly dialogue, but I hope you all like it!**

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><p>"Yes." Molly said after a few moments of silence.<p>

"Wait, what?" Moriarty was baffled. "_You_ set that hospital on fire?"

"Yes. _I_ set it on fire." Molly sighed, rubbing her temples. Moriarty began to slowly clap his hands, and progressed into fast applause.

"Well done, my dear. _Very_ well done." He grinned at her. Molly had no physical reaction to his words, and he clasped his hands together. "Well, you've got my _undivided_ attention." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Well, okay." She started. "So, explain this to me: You followed me to my yoga class one day, and I just happened to get hit by a bus. You were ever so _conveniently_ close to my location, and you 'came to my rescue'. Just before I blacked out, you told me that you loved me. Then you stopped visiting." She inhaled deeply before speaking again. "I don't understand." Moriarty truly didn't understand it himself. He just thought that Molly needed some personal space.

"Remember that day I visited you in the hospital?" He asked. Molly nodded. "And you told me to 'get out'?" She thought for a few seconds, and then nodded again. "Well, I interpreted that as 'Get out, and stay out'."

That was a lie. He didn't want to have to deal with two things. One was Sherlock and John, or anyone else showing up at the same that he was with her. And another was the fact that he couldn't see Molly in the condition she was in. She looked helpless and weak. She looked sick. She didn't look like Molly Hooper.

"Of course I wanted you to come back." She said. She reached for his hand, but he retracted it. Molly didn't make eye contact. "When you said you loved me outside the café, I thought that you actually cared." Moriarty held an indifferent expression on his face, but his mind was racing.

"I'm going inside." Molly collected her book and coffee, and left him on the terrace. Moriarty stood in the same place for a few moments, contemplating what had just happened. Then he ran in after her.

"Molly, wait!" She spun around.

"What?"

"Why the hell would you set a hospital on fire just to get my attention? Why not just contact me?" He asked.

"Because I had no way to get a hold of you! Your old number got shut off, I didn't know where you were, and I didn't know the directions to your flat!"

"You've been to my flat before."

"I never paid attention on how to get here." She snapped.

"And how do you know Irene Adler?" Moriarty asked. "How did you get _her_ to tell me about you?"

"Well, that time when she was 'dead', there was a fake Irene on my morgue table. Sherlock was so sad about it." Molly said. "I looked into it, but there was no evidence of her still being alive. I wanted to make Sherlock feel better, but I couldn't. So, I forgot about her for a few months. And then she just bloody walked into my morgue yesterday, asking about the murder of Irene Adler. Sherlock had given me pictures of her, and I knew it was her. I had also read her file, and it said something about working with unknown employers. I took a shot in the dark, and asked if she knew you. And then I asked her to contact you for me." Molly sighed and looked down at her feet.

Moriarty couldn't say anything. He admired her for looking into this deeper than she would have with any other murder, but he didn't understand why she did it _just_ for Sherlock.

"You did all of that just for Sherlock?" He inquired. Molly looked up.

"Well, yes. He's my friend. He was so sad. I couldn't just sit there and watch him suffer." She explained. Moriarty chuckled.

"You ordinary people are so… So sentimental."

"What? What do you mean?" She asked.

"You did all of that just for someone to feel better." He said, inching closer to Molly.

"Yeah… Isn't that what people do?" She questioned.

"That's what ordinary people do. But you're not ordinary." He paused. "Well, not _that_ ordinary. You work in a morgue for God's sake. You have so much potential. You could do so many things." He said. Molly just looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

He leaned down and kissed her lips lightly. So lightly, in fact, their lips barely even touched. Molly stood there, dumbfounded. "It's not like you'd ever do anything 'out of the ordinary' anyway. You're too cautious. You take what people say too seriously. You don't break the rules. No, you _can't_ break the rules."

"I-I can break the rules! I give dead bodies to Sherlock for his experiments. That's out of the hospital's policy!" She argued. Moriarty turned his back to her, and walked to the window of his flat.

"That's not my definition of 'breaking the rules'." Jim stated flatly.

"Oh, so, you mean you want me to rob a bank? To kill someone? That's your definition of 'breaking the rules'?"

"Precisely." He said. Molly didn't know what else to say, so she switched the topic.

"When will I be going home to my flat?"

Moriarty spun around.

"You want to go home? Come on, Molly. You just got here!"

"I need to feed Toby. I have to go to work." She said.

"Do you _have_ to?" Moriarty whined.

"Yes. Jim, I can't just live with you for the rest of eternity!" She snapped. He frowned, jokingly.

"_Fiiiiine._ Leave after breakfast." He told her.

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you all for reading! As always, reviews and feedback are welcome.**

**Also, If you have any questions, feel free to PM me.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: I am _so_ sorry that I haven't updated in like 3 weeks. I didn't know what to write. Also, school. Sorry for that! I hope you like this even though it is _super_ short(I hate short chapters). Please don't hurt me.**

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><p>By around 5 am, Moriarty had prepared pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, homemade orange juice, tea, coffee, and toast. The aromas from each item filled the flat.<p>

"I never took you for the cooking type." Molly said with a yawn.

"Well, a criminal like myself has to be able to cook. I'd expected to always be on my own." He replied without looking up.

"You could probably end world hunger with all of this food!" Molly joked. He chuckled.

"But, I won't. I'm just going to end _our_ hunger." He tried joking back. Molly gave an awkward smile.

Moriarty placed 2 extremely large, porcelain plates on the small, round table. It was covered with a cream-colored tablecloth, along with a vase of roses.

He pulled out her chair for her, and she sat.

"Thank you." She said, looking up. He kissed her cheek.

"You're welcome." After he put out the silverware, he began to transfer the food from the counter to the table.

He sat, and they began to serve themselves. Molly took a small amount of food, so small, it made Jim wonder if he had made too much. "Is something the matter?" He asked.

Molly eyed her plate. "Oh, no! No, I'm just not that hungry." She stammered.

He gave an apologetic smile.

"I didn't mean to call you out or anything, it just seems like you're not eating enough." He said truthfully.

The pair ate their meals, and Molly decided she had to head out, but not before she helped Jim clean up.

"Can I help clean anything?" Molly asked.

"I thought you had to go to work." Jim turned on the faucet to clean the dishes. Molly shuffled over to him.

"I can't just leave you here with all of this to do." She told him, rolling up her sweater's sleeves.

Jim moved slightly to the left to allow Molly access to the sink. The pair stood side-by-side washing the dishes. At some point, Moriarty had shifted so he was behind Molly, guiding her hands as they washed the large frying pan.

Molly dropped the pan in the sink, slipped her hands from his, and turned around slowly. This confused him, but he decided to just go with it.

Just as he was about to speak, she stood on her toes and kissed him lightly, catching him by surprise.

"Thanks." She smiled. "…F-for breakfast! Thank you for breakfast." She said. Molly didn't have anything with her, so she put on her shoes, and headed for the door. Moriarty broke out of his daze and remembered something.

"Wait, Molly, I've got something of yours." He called to her. She turned around puzzled, and watched him sprint into his bedroom.

Moriarty threw open the doors to his walk-in closet, and took out the purple cardigan. He then returned into the living area.

"This is yours. You left it here one of the times you spent the night." He handed her the sweater.

"The button isn't missing anymore, and the hole has been mended." She smiled. "Thank you Jim." She kissed his cheek. "That was sweet of you."

He smiled back, and said nothing as she turned and disappeared out the door.

"Little miss Molly Hooper." He smirked. "Always so predictable."


	11. Chapter 11

"Jesus Christ!" She shrieked. Molly's back slammed against the door to her flat. "What the hell is going on?" She struggled against the invader. "Who are you?" She kept fighting to get her attacker's grip to loosen, but inevitably failed.

"Why, my darling, don't you recognize me?" he asked mockingly. Her eyes blinked rapidly against the darkness that surrounded them.

"Jim? _Jim_? What the hell are you doing here?" She questioned frantically. Moriarty grinned at her.

"I came to welcome you home." He released his harsh grip, and led her to the sofa. They sat next to each other, and he put his arm around her. He could tell that she was uncomfortable next to him. "Oh, relax, Hooper. I'm not going to _bite_ you." He paused and leaned toward her, and whispered into her ear. "Unless you're into that." Molly smiled awkwardly, and leaned away from him.

"Uh, no. I'm not into that…" She replied. He leaned closer to make up for the distance she had just put between them. He nuzzled into her neck, and kissed her skin softly.

"Jim," She sighed, shooting up from her seat, "Why are you really here?" Moriarty practically fell over when she stood. He sat up, took her hand, and placed a kiss on it.

"I'm here to pick you up for dinner." He stood and turned the floor lamp on. The room lit up to reveal him in a black suit. "I got you something."

He disappeared into her small bathroom, and returned with a long, plastic bag. Molly's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. He handed her the bag. "Open it." He grinned. She stood there for a few moments before everything registered. As she unzipped the bag, she gasped and cupped her hand over her gaping mouth. Moriarty smiled deviously at this.

"I-I… But-" She stammered.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" He taunted, as Toby rubbed against her leg. Molly removed the dress fully from its cover. The gown was blood red with a slit in the right side, stopping just below the thigh area. It had one quarter-sleeve on the right side, and the dress would touch the floor if Molly would wear it. The seam at the top of the dress was covered in real diamonds.

"How did you afford this?" She finally asked. He chuckled.

"Silly girl," He teased, "I'm the world's only consulting criminal. How do you _think_ I afforded it?" She looked up from the gown.

"You stole it, didn't you?" She frowned. This made Moriarty laugh harder.

"Darling, don't be stupid. I haven't stolen anything. I fix peoples' problems, and they pay me." He explained.

"How much do you get paid?" Molly asked. Moriarty turned around, and walked to the window.

"That's for me to know, and you to never find out." He folded his hands behind his back.

He peered over his shoulder at Molly, who was spinning around with the dress held against her. He half-smiled. "Do you like it?" She stopped spinning and ran to him.

"Oh yes! Jim, it's beautiful. Thank you so much." She hugged him, and he tilted his head to rest it on hers.

"It was nothing, darling." He kissed her cheek. "Go get dressed. Like I said, I'm taking you to dinner." He waltzed over to the couch and reclaimed his spot. Molly went into her room to change into her new dress. He picked up an out of date magazine, and began to read it. After about 5 minutes, Molly appeared.

"Well?" She asked. Moriarty put down the periodical, and turned around.

"My, my. What do we have here?" He asked, maneuvering around the couch, taking her hand, and spinning her in a circle. "A little princess, perhaps?"

Molly giggled. He pulled her close and kissed her lips. They matched the dress.

"This dress is beautiful. Thank you so much, Jim." She mumbled into his mouth.

"Oh, love, it was nothing." He said, pulling away. He twirled her hair around his finger. "I almost forgot. I got you some other things." He released her, and grabbed a bag from the dining table. "Open it." Molly took the bag and from it, produced a shoebox, a jewelry box, and a silver handbag.

"Jim, why do you keep spoiling me? Breakfast? A new dress? Did I do something?" She smiled, white teeth gleaming.

"Anything for you, my sweet." He replied placing a kiss on her neck. Molly leaned into his touch. Moriarty loved that about her; the fact that the simplest things made her smile.

"Um, could you help me please?" She held out the diamond necklace he purchased for her. He took the delicate jewelry, and Molly turned around. He clasped it, and she turned to face him. "Thanks."

"It gleams in the light. Just like your eyes."

She bent down to pick up the shoebox. She looked up at him, seeming to be unsure if to open the box or not.

"Just open it, Molly." He guided her hand to the lid, then released. She hesitated, closed her eyes, and opened it. She gasped, opening her eyes.

"Oh, they're beautiful!" She grabbed them and dropped the box. "Thank you so much! I can't even begin to explain how thankful I am!" The heels were the same red as the dress, and shiny. Moriarty took them.

"May I?" He raised an eyebrow. Molly nodded, and clasped her hands together.

He kneeled, and she lifted her foot. He placed the shoes on her petite feet, and stood.

"Oh my, I feel so tall!" She exclaimed. She was two inches taller, but Moriarty was still taller.

"You look lovely. Shall we?" He held out a hand. Molly giggled.

"Let's."


	12. Chapter 12

"And I'll have the filet mignon." Molly requested.

"Very good. If there's anything else I can get for you two, let me know." Said the waitress, as she took the menus.

Molly shifted in her seat and sipped her wine. Jim gazed at her.

Molly's hair was in a curled updo, with little ringlets hanging down from the sides.

"You look lovely." He said, flashing a small smile. Molly set the glass down, and gave a nervous smile in return.

"Thank you," she began, "You don't look so bad, yourself."

"I never look bad." He joked, sipping his own wine. They continued to converse during their little date. Jim spat witty banter and Molly laughed. He asked her about work. She just told him that it was the same as usual. "Dead bodies, cold basement, coffee." she had told him. He laughed.

Once they had finished their meals, Jim helped Molly put on her coat and paid for dinner.

"This was lovely," Molly said. She stood on her toes and pecked his cheek. He wrapped his arm around her and they sauntered off, back to Molly's flat.

Once they were inside, Molly went for a shower to wash out all of the hairspray from her locks. Jim settled himself on the couch and turned on the television. Toby decided to join him at his feet. Jim smiled to himself.

"You get to live with Molly all the time. I'm jealous, Toby." He said mostly to himself. Toby was a cat after all, and he couldn't understand Jim.

Jim flicked through the channels and left it on some science show. He watched mindlessly while molly washed herself. Once she was finished, she returned to the living room and sat on the floor in front of the couch with Jim and her cat on it. He combed through her damp hair with his fingers.

"Wanna go to bed soon?" Molly half-suggested.

Jim nodded. "After this show's over, love."

Molly tipped her head back so it was laying on the couch and touching Jim's side. Toby stretched, jumped off, and rubbed against Molly's side. She scratched behind his ear and he purred softly.

The show ended and Jim turned off the television. The trio made their way to Molly's bedroom.

Jim undressed from his lavish suit and left on only his undergarments. Molly had on a t-shirt which was far too large on her and shorts.

Jim fell back onto the mattress and beckoned for Molly to join him. She did, not like she was going to object. The two settled into the bed together. She snuggled up to him and he held her close.

"I love you." She said it first this time. Jim chuckled and squeezed her a bit.

"I love you too, darling." They slowly drifted out of consciousness.

In the morning, Jim was greeted by Toby pawing at his face. He grinned and turned over. Molly was still sleeping.

He got up and made some breakfast for the two of them. It was something smaller than the extravagant breakfast he had made the other day.

"Jim, I think you should leave." Molly said. He whirled around and frowned at her.

"Why?" He asked. She leaned against the wall.

"Greg Lestrade just phoned. He saw us together last night. He wants me to turn you in." Jim could feel the gears turning in his mind. He tried his best to stay calm. He _really_ did.

"So, you're going to turn me in to the police, then?" He asked, advancing toward her. Molly stepped toward him as well, shaking her head.

"Jim, why would I ever do that? I love you. You're my boyfriend." She tried her best to calm him down. She _really_ did.

He knew that Lestrade had a little crush on his Molly.

He knew Molly didn't feel the same way toward him. That didn't stop him from losing it.

"You're not going to turn me in, Hooper," he chuckled nervously, "You're not going to."

Molly noticed before it was too late.

Jim noticed that Molly had stopped moving away from him.

He looked down and saw the crimson on his hand. Then he looked up at Molly's face. Her face was twisted into a sad smile.

"I knew we weren't going to last, Jim." She sobbed. Jim just stared at her as a tear ran down Molly's cheek.

He retracted the knife from her torso and carried her to the bedroom. He put her on the mattress and covered her. He kissed her forehead.

Toby jumped on the bed and nudged at her with his nose. He looked up at Jim and seemed to be in distress. Jim turned to leave the room, but he couldn't leave fast enough to escape Molly's single plea for him to call an ambulance. He ignored it.

Jim walked out the door, locked it, and left her flat.

"I couldn't let you do it, Molly." He murmured to himself as he vanished down the block.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Hello, my friends (or enemies. I don't know how mad you are for waiting this long. My friend called me a "mini moffat" because I started this story over two years ago oops what a hiatus. This is beside the point). I have literally no excuses for the delay of this chapter except that I sort of had a really, really long writer's block and didn't know how I wanted this to end. Well, this is it. Without further ado, here is the latest and final chapter of "Psychopathic Criminal Mastermind." Please enjoy.**

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><p>Jim woke to the sun shining through the wafting curtains. He jolted up in his bed and checked the time. He was late to work.<p>

Now, Jim didn't normally work. He had a job, yes, but he never had to_ work._ People did that for him. As he jumped out of bed and rushed to get his clothes on - an ordinary grey v-neck and jeans - his computer notified him of an email.

He hopped over to the desk, shimmying into his jeans, and opened the email application. One of his favourite blogs had updated. He smiled to himself. After he read the update, he shut down his computer, grabbed his belongings, and left the flat he had rented.

The tube station was bustling with early morning passengers heading to work and do other uneventful and mundane tasks. Jim boarded the tube car and held tight to one of the poles for stability as the train picked up speed and traveled to the next station. The car was relatively clean, but one passenger smelled horrid and made Jim scrunch his nose. The tube ride was short in comparison to how long it would have taken him to get to his destination from his many other locations.

He arrived at Blackfriars and exited the car, relieved of the pungent passenger. He made his way to the street level and continued to walk for a few minutes until he reached his destination for the day. He entered the building and went to the receptionist. He chatted with her for a while and she gave him instructions on where to go. He listened and walked through the halls until he arrived at the room he was supposed to be in. He knocked on the door and a voice called for him to enter.

He conversed with his new boss and received his name badge and a key to the storage room. He then was lead to his new workplace and was told to just ask for help if he needed anything. Jim was left alone again and sat at his desk. He logged into the new computer he was given and began to work, typing intricate codes into different programs and causing one specific employee's computer to white-screen.

Phones rang constantly all day with distressed staff who were having computer troubles, but Jim was waiting for one specific person to call seeking help. After he received that special call, Jim traveled down to the basement around lunch time to help an employee with a malfunctioning laptop.

A while ago, Jim did not expect for such an innocent and delicate woman to be working in a job that involved a lot of blood and dead things. He spent a lot of time with those types of things, and surely this woman with the cat obsession would not be able to handle such an intense job, but over time, he grew to like the idea of a woman like this working with things just as fragile as she was.

He entered the morgue of the hospital with a warm smile - as warm as he could muster - and greeted the completely frazzled-looking woman. She smiled softly at him and began to explain what was wrong. He assured her that he could have the problem fixed in no time. They made small talk as Jim worked.

"So, um, Molly. How do you like working here?" Jim asked as shyly as he could.

"To be honest, I really love what I do," she answered with a smile. "It may seem a bit disgusting and all, but I find it peaceful. Sometimes it gets a little sad, but it isn't ever anything that I can't handle. Occasionally, I like to make up stories for the bodies I examine," Molly laughed nervously. "Oh god," she groaned, "I sounded like a complete psychopath just then." Jim smiled inwardly to himself at her choice of words.

"Oh, not at all! Anything that helps you perform better at work is always a good thing."

After a while, Jim had fixed the malfunctioning laptop and Molly thanked him excitedly.

"So, um. I was just... Never mind it's not important..." Jim trailed off. Molly looked at him with a thoughtful look on her face.

"Well, it seemed important enough to bring it up... Go ahead; I'm all ears, Jim," She reassured. Jim blushed and averted his eyes to the floor.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to go out for a coffee or something... I mean if you don't want to, it's fine! I completely understand if you don't want to. We haven't talked for long and-"

"Yes, Jim," Molly interrupted with a smile, "I would love that." Jim looked up, surprised at the outcome. He grinned at her, still blushing, and they set up a day for their little get together. Molly had to get back to work, and awkwardly said her goodbyes to Jim. He said his almost just as awkward as she had and left.

Jim smirked to himself as he walked back up to his work floor. His plan had been set in motion and all he needed was to distract Molly enough with dates to get the information he needed from her. This was going to be his best attack on Sherlock Holmes yet.


End file.
